


Alone

by Lyracst



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Captivity, Despair, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Physical Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Wishing for death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-16 05:36:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21502732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyracst/pseuds/Lyracst
Summary: Prior to the events of Dragon Age II, a brief glimpse at a typical night of Fenris' life before his escape to Kirkwall.
Kudos: 9





	Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: work contains depictions of physical and emotional abuse, and consequential suicidal ideation; please use care when reading.

It was a curious thing to witness.  
  
The legs working, kicking. The thin, transparent sheen of the wings reflecting a myriad of unexpected colors in the dim light. The black, armored body. It twisted again, convulsed, trying so desperately to correct itself. When it failed, the creature fell still for a moment or two, then began again even more violently.  
  
Fenris attempted to turn over onto his side and groaned. Danarius had been in a particularly foul mood, and the bruises, though not yet ripened to their deep blues and purples and blacks, were numerous. He cursed softly and lay flat on his back, his shoulders thudding against the cold, stone floor in surrender. He turned his head, and even this small movement sent shards of pain down his neck and through his chest.  
  
The fly was having no better luck than he. It spun in slow circles, kicking and struggling, still unable to turn over and find its footing. It likely never would again, Fenris knew. Its time was short, perhaps very short, and no intervention would change that.  
  
Yet, he felt he must try.  
  
Drawing in a sharp breath, Fenris lurched upwards, ignoring the screaming pain his ribs and stomach. He threw his shoulders forward and felt it, the weight of his body balancing at the fulcrum. His left side was pressed to the ground, and though it was the less injured of the two, the pain was enough to darken his vision and leave him dizzy, breathless. Gritting his teeth, he pushed through it once more and, in a rather unsatisfying instant, rolled flat onto his stomach. Relieved, he pressed his cheek to the cold ground, deeply grateful that no one was around to see the beads of sweat on his brow, to witness how difficult one simple motion had been for him to achieve. Or to see how much energy it had cost him.  
  
He breathed deeply and took stock of the various sensations in his body, for the first time since he had been returned to the confines of his cell truly attempting to understand the severity of his injuries. Fenris’ first observation: he had had worse. Despite that, at least three of his ribs were broken or cracked. His right shoulder burned terribly, the result of his arm having been sharply and violently twisted. His skull ached and throbbed, his abdomen was sore, and he was riddled with countless scratches, abrasions, and bruises. His skin felt raw all over, an unpleasant reminder of the lyrium forcibly etched into it. Still, he was alive. Always, alive.  
  
Fenris swallowed down the lump that formed within his throat, a cold, bitter, dark hurt that swelled from deep within and threatened to envelop him completely. His eyes burned with unshed, unwanted tears of desperation – he blinked them back quickly. He focused his attention on the thin patch of ground before him awash with moonlight. There were no windows in the tiny room allotted to him -- it was, in every way, no more than a cell -- but this particular wing of Danarius’ manor had fallen into some disrepair, and a small section of wall near where the stone met the wood of the roof had separated, allowing a narrow glimpse out and upward into the night sky. Fenris had spent countless hours peering through that gap, his hungry eyes revelling in the deep violets of night and the vibrant blues of day. The moonlight it granted him now felt like the gentle presence of a friend, and it calmed him, softly steering his thoughts away from the edge they so often teetered on, guiding them and grounding them.   
  
He returned his attention to the fly. Its frantic buzzing had diminished to an occasional outburst, signalling its waning energy. When it fought now, it was haphazardly, its limbs twitching and flailing with desperation. When it fell still, it was for longer, its small black body stiff with resignation. He stretched out his left arm slowly, extending a long, nimble pointer finger. Danarius took a strange pride in Fenris’ hands, even marvelled at them. Before his guests, he had on more than one occasion drawn attention to them, how fine, how delicate, despite their proven ability to wound and harm and wield weapons. Danarius smugly attributed their beauty to “elven grace,” and his gaggle of resplendently-dressed guests would hum and croon with feigned appreciation, reaching out to touch him, to feel his muscles, to trace the branches of lyrium winding across his skin. The thought of it made Fenris’ stomach turn with anger.  
  
Chasing away his mounting rage, Fenris reached out to the small creature and slowly, very gently, nudged its twitching body upright. Encouraged by its chance at freedom, the fly’s wings exploded with energy, but something about them were not right, broken, and in an instant the creature had turned itself onto its back once more. Fenris tried again with the same outcome. Once more, and no change. _There truly is no saving it_ , he thought _. Nothing to be done for it. Nothing but to leave it alone to die._ He retracted his hand slowly, his eyes distant and glassy.  
  
His cell door burst open with a resounding crash, metal upon stone.   
  
_“Elf_ ,” hissed a grating, dangerous voice. Sharp and cutting, like the wrenching of a steel blade through armor, it was a voice that made his blood run cold with rage, fear, hatred.  
  
_Venhedis,_ he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, urging himself to sink into the stone floor, to be anywhere but here. He should have anticipated that she would come to him. _Hadriana._  
  
“ _Look_ at me when I am speaking to you!”  
  
A sharp kick to his side, a searing pain that tore through him, blinding him with white light. She would continue if he did not obey, he knew. With a slow, rattling breath, Fenris shoved himself away from the ground and rolled onto his back. The effort left him pale and gasping. Nevertheless, he met her frigid gaze, his green eyes blazing with defiance.  
  
“You are truly worthless,” her lips twisted into an ugly scowl. “What’s more, you are a liability. Danarius should never have entrusted you with such a valuable gift. What he sees in you is beyond me. Were it up to me, you would have been left to starve with your snivelling mother.”  
  
Fenris said nothing. No doubt she awaited his retaliation, yearned for it, so that she could punish him accordingly. Fenris knew that she would punish him either way.  
  
“You angered him tonight. Your refusal to act like a proper slave brings him shame in front of his guests. You think the beating he gave you was cruel, no doubt? You deserve much worse.”  
  
She kicked him twice, once in the stomach, and once more in his ribs.  
  
“He ought to flay you, to take back the gift he gave you and bestow it on a slave who deserves it. It would be easy enough to do. I would do it myself, given the chance.”  
  
Hadriana stepped closer, leaning down to bring her face close to his. He could see the hatred in her eyes, dark and deadly - it was an apt reflection of his own feelings. _Do it. Kill her now, then flee. Even if you fail, even if they kill you in the courtyard like a rabid dog, anything is better than this. Do it!_  
  
She smiled victoriously, a low laugh echoing within the confines of his cell.   
  
“How badly you wish to harm me, isn’t that right, _Little Wolf_ ? What you wouldn’t give to use that gift of yours to rip right through me. How many arena contestants have met a similar fate? Did _they_ deserve it, Little Wolf? And did you enjoy killing them the way you would enjoy killing me?”  
  
Hadriana straightened, delicately dusting off the knees of her dress with a swipe of her hands.  
  
“If there is one thing about you I remotely respect, it is your love of violence. We have that in common, you and I. Remember that, Fenris. Never forget it.”  
  
She paused in the doorway, and turned slowly to face him once more. Her gaze fixed on the patch of moonlight on the ground, then roved upwards to the gap in the ceiling. The light pouring in behind her made him squint, but even so, he could see her thin lips twisting into a nasty grin.  
  
“We can’t have you getting any ideas, can we?”  
  
Her fingertips glowed a deep, murky red, the color of dried blood.  
  
_There is truly no saving me..._  
  
A myriad of loose rubble on the ground rose into the air, levitating in place before his eyes. She flicked her wrist casually, and the rubble assembled itself neatly in the gap in the ceiling, blotting out every inch of the night sky that had been visible just moments before.  
  
_Nothing to be done..._  
  
She slammed his cell door shut behind her, leaving him in complete and boundless darkness. Not a sound broke the silence, not even the buzzing of the fly, now permanently motionless. His fingers curled into themselves, forming fists, then relaxed flat against the ground and fell still.  
_  
__But to wait, alone, to die._


End file.
